


When I See You

by lorryspence



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Crushes, Disease, Eye Contact, First Love, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:29:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28275366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorryspence/pseuds/lorryspence
Summary: The young man doesn’t even turn around. He already knew who the owner of the voice was. He merely remained in place, allowing the source to catch up to him. He hears the familiar pitter patter of running shoes. The drum of its pace was consistent, much like the certainty of a heartbeat that Suga had precisely known all his life.‘Skin carved from Greek marble across the Agean Sea, hair woven from the finest copper of Babylon, eyes made from from the richest of molasses of Molucas and a shit-eating grin that’s nurtured only from hell.’Suga smiles and makes sure to meet the rich pit of molasses with his own slate eyes.Or, Suga and Daichi meet for the first time and can't see eye-to-eye.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Oikawa Tooru/Sugawara Koushi, Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	1. The Face

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mikko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikko/gifts).



> TW: This fic contains topics of anxiety and disabilities. Please read at your own discretion. Thank you!
> 
> Hello friends! It's been a while since I've written. I was pushed with creating a peace offering to Mikko after I had wrongly done something to his favorite character so... this is my daisuga redemption arc! I haven't really delved into daisuga until recently and I hope I capture their dynamics well. This wil be a bit of a slow burn but I hope you'll stick around for the pay back. 
> 
> This fic was actually inspired by a podcast I was listening to about Falling from Radiolab. I did my best to do research online and take notes from the podcast itself, however I'll be tackling the topic quite generally. The story made me rethink how we experience people and I hope this fic can get my little thoughts across to you. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The morning air was cold. It wasn’t frigid to bluntly sting the skin, but it wasn’t comfortable enough to risk the body exposed. Even with a warm knitted cardigan swaddled around him, Suga found himself shivering as he peered out the gates of his home. The spring wind pulled at the young man’s hair in all sorts of directions, scattering spider-like threads against the faint glimmer of the morning and tracing his face with its touch. The bluster’s petulance did little to dissuade the man from wanting to go outside. Hence, it leaves a genuine good luck kiss on the man’s cheeks turning them a rosy pink as he takes nature’s challenge with an impish determination. Much like a child ready to face the deep end of the pool for the first time, he dips his foot first into the pavement outside.

There is no one.

Suga sighs, only then realizing that he was holding a breath. A small pout pulls his face down. People make him anxious and he believes that they shouldn’t. Yet, he couldn’t help feeling the way that he did.

His gray tresses start to wave in the air again like wisps, forewarning of another blow. This time, he remembers to grip hard at the small blue leash that lulls in the air. The cold gray slate of Suga’s eyes quickly traces the leashed end, making sure his company is comfortable enough with the blowing nuisance.

His name was Tobio.

A small-bodied Shiba puppy, tottering around the edges of the gate with its stubby legs, began to bark at the unwanted company, putting up more of a fight than its owner did. The bluster replies with a howl that only makes the Shiba bark back louder.

Suga giggles at the incoherent dialogue, merely thankful that he wasn’t alone. With that, he pats Tobio’s head and embarks on their long-winded path on the road with the spring wind chasing their tails.

Suga does walks in the morning. It’s mostly so he could work a bit of the sweat before he starts the day, but also because it’s a wonderful exercise for his eyes as well. Staring at books, screens and people the whole day would regularly put a strain on the young man. At first, he thought it was merely the effect of fatigue, long hours on the computer or reading textbooks late through the night. However, as his age progressed, so did the problem.

It all began with a tree.

He had memorized the shapes of the elder tree outside his window, such as the elongation of the trunk and the wiriness of the branches, to the details that made it special, like the streak-like grains on the bark and the odd, one-sided growth of its foliage. However, as time passed, he noticed that the tree appeared dull, missing the incredulities that made its person. The trunk was still distinguishable, but the edges of the bark had almost blurred away and its foliage had somewhat turned monotonously into a single hue of green compacted into clumps rather than an array of individuals.

Gone was the beauty that made the tree severely unique. _‘Oh well, some good things don’t last.’_ That was what Suga thought.

Then on his way to school, Suga realized the harrowing reality as he passed by places and faces he couldn’t make out.

Suga looked up.

The neighborhood they resided in was quaint, far removed from the jostle of the city, but not isolated from the its tethers to the community. Rarely would you find a truck circumnavigate the routes in the area and more so would you rarely find a vacant shop. The only reason that Suga could relish experiencing such empty streets was none other than the fact that it was an ungodly hour. 7 am on a Sunday.

The time is actually quite a preference of Suga’s, providing him the first sliver of the sunrise all the while rendering so many people helpless against the warm embrace of their bed sheets. What was once painted in pretty purples had been dawned with the faint yellow veil of the sun, echoing textures of wood, glass and iron to reveal themselves in the light.

However, Suga would not see any of them. At best, he would recognize parts of them.

He stops in his tracks, letting the rubber of his sole roughly brush the pavement, catching Tobio’s attention.

The young man stared at a white post-modern home furnished with elements of steel and glass. The hard, rigidness of the form was so sharp that even Suga’s poor sight could remark on the edges of its figure. He releases a breath. It was well-deserved. Seldom does an object become so defined enough for him to see through his disability.

Houses lined the area of neighborhood with an array designs, forms and figures. Every now and then, Suga would chance upon an exceptional home- one that oozed such strength in its form and reality that it translated against his damaged sight.

Sometimes, with houses such as this, Suga takes his time to look at them. _To really look_. He tries to focus his eyes on the roof eave, deliberately trying to focus on the details, the fine craftsmanship that makes it so terribly beautiful. He sometimes says he does it to exercise his eyes, allowing him to gain as much control as he can over his vision, but, really, he does it because he misses seeing beautiful things again. He misses the vibrancy of a beautiful bouquet of flowers freshly picked from the shop; he misses the vividness of paintings hung on walls of museums; and he misses the complexity of freckles decorated on faces. Suga loves beautiful things and it’s been a while since he’s seen beauty at all.

“Suga-chan.”

The young man doesn’t even turn around. He already knew who the owner of the voice was. He merely remained in place, allowing the source to catch up to him. He hears the familiar pitter patter of running shoes. The drum of its pace was consistent, much like the certainty of a heartbeat that Suga had precisely known all his life.

_‘Skin carved from Greek marble across the Agean Sea, hair woven from the finest copper of Babylon, eyes made from from the richest of molasses of Molucas and a shit-eating grin that’s nurtured only from hell.’_

Suga smiles and makes sure to meet the rich pit of molasses with his own slate eyes.

Suga loves beautiful things and Oikawa was the one person he, not only thought, but saw was beautiful before his eyes had failed him.

“Good morning Oikawa, what’s it going to be today?” He says with a smile and a raised brow. Tobio, already familiar with Oikawa, chimes in with his yelp.

The new company reciprocates, pulling his lips into a devilish smirk that quickly shifted into mock offense. “Well, good morning to you too Suga-chan! What do you mean by _what’s it going to be today_!?” Oikawa hounds, trying to make Suga state the obvious.

The shorter of the two shakes his head and rolls his eyes, slightly annoyed that he was being compelled to spell it out. “Last Friday, you made me help you practice volleyball ‘til the school security had to kick us out. Yesterday, you invited me to come over to bake, when actually it was your last-minute stint to save yourself from forgetting to buy a gift for your sister’s birthday. Tell me, what’s it going to be today?” Suga pointedly asks, cockish and triumphant in stating his case.

“What!?”

The other, for the loss of words, merely sticks his tongue out in his usually defiant nature before Suga begins to move forward, abandoning the beautiful home for the beautiful company. Oikawa follows Suga’s lead, striding behind him with a smile, knowing that he’d always be forgiven for stringing the shorter man along with his antics. As he always does, slowly and surely, Oikawa works up his way to Suga’s side, arms hung loose and hands dangerously close to touching.

“So?” Suga waits patiently as he strolls with Oikawa through another line of houses, each most probably charming, but none quite as remarkable as the last.

“Well, it’s a Sunday Suga. You know what that means.”

The ash-haired man raises a brow.

“Okay, okay.” Oikawa puts his hands up in an attempt to physically steer the conversation. “It’s the day that Iwa”-Suga’s ears perk up at the sound of the name, knowing too well what this person meant to Oikawa - “and his gang normally come to play basketball. We were talking all night and he dared me on a 3-on-3 match later.”

“Oikawa.” Suga mutters, more of a reflex to the beginning of another misadventure than any form of attempt to stop it.

“I told Iwa I’d play against him with you and Maki on my team! Now, just hear me out Koushi!”

Suga’s heart flutters a little, mending the mention of Iwa with the sound of his very own name, but he chooses to visibly wince, lest he let Oikawa know his effect on him.

“Koushi, I know you’re worried about how you’ll do with your eyes, but I’ve seen you play volleyball. Your hand-eye coordination is just fine. You don’t really have a problem seeing. You just have a problem recognizing!”

_‘How you’ll do with your eyes.’_ Those words echo in Suga’s head. Though fleeting, it inflicts him with a dull pain in his heart. He’s quite aware of the reality of his condition. However, it doesn’t mean he’s quite at peace with it.

“Oikawa.” Suga raises a brow, this time enforcing a smile to lighten the severity of his tone.

Even the dullest weapons can puncture a hole into the hardest surfaces when applied repetitively. Slowly, it widens with every mention of his eyes. _‘It’s a condition.’_ Suga thinks. _‘It’s a very unfair condition.’_ With every kind consideration Oikawa was saying, it just made the presence of his handicap ever greater. Nonetheless, Suga had to live with that so he keeps his smile.

“Look!” The young man pulls two teal shirts, much like the one he was donning now. “You just need to know who to throw the ball to, right? You’ll play just fine!”

“Oikawa!” Suga says more like a reprimand. The man’s lips press thinly into each other as his smile begins to waver and his brows begins to furrow.

The copper-haired man stiffens in his place, sensing the looming eruption if he were to speak the wrong words. A lot of people would think Oikawa was obtuse to people’s feeling, speaking so bluntly and abrasively as he wished. However, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. He was quite perceptive. It was just a matter of whether he wanted to be considerate or not and, in this case, Suga was precious enough to tip toe his words for.

Suga knew this, but there’s was a difference between what one knew and what one felt, much like the shame he felt over his anxiety with people. He knew Oikawa meant well, but he felt inferior by the mere measurements that needed to take place to accommodate him for simple things such as playing basketball. Nonetheless, he doesn’t dare let it show, not that long at least.

Bringing a palm to his forehead in mock exasperation, he looks straight to Oikawa to say “Fine, I’ll play.” He adds a little smirk and giggle to soften the exchange between the two of them.

It was sometimes hard for Suga to interact with Oikawa. Not that Oikawa was insufferable company, but rather that he could never become the kind of company Oikawa desired him to be. He couldn’t be the old Suga again.

“Look, Suga!” Oikawa points at the thick willowy arms of trees that arched above. Their usually green crowns had turned pink and, due to the season, some of its members had slowly begun to flutter in the wind.

Suga crouches down to pick up what appeared to him to be a cherry blossom. He twirled the flower with its stem intact between his fingers. He could see its shape, how the petals gently curved and the narrowing tissue of its stem. However, his eyes could no longer tell him how the veins underneath looked, how the color varied from one part to the other or how the light played different from one surface to the other. All he could see was a vague shape of a flower and the color pink. He smiled. It was going to be a fact of life.

In the background, Oikawa looks around the new budding blossoms while narrating his latest conversation with Iwa, underlining the many things that drove him crazy about his childhood friend. Suga rolls his eyes, knowing all too well what a hoax Oikawa’s petty whining is. Suga, all of a sudden comes up with an evil idea. He smirks to himself. Quickly, he gathers a pile of petals in his hands and sneakily approaches Oikawa from behind.

“Oikawa!” Suga shouts before throwing a bush full of blossoms at his friend’s face. The mere impact of flora sends Oikawa flat on his bottom and terribly showered in pink. The image even amuses their furry friend, Tobio, who runs circles around the fallen lad.

He mock-gasps in shock. “Suga-chan! How dare thee!”

He smirks at Oikawa, playing along with his charade. Slowly, he picks up Tobio and begins to dash.

Oikawa gives chase to Suga, hoping to punish his friend for the betrayal. Their shoes skid against the concrete and asphalt as they run throughout the streets, yelping and squealing whenever someone was so close to getting tagged. The crisp crunch of fallen leaves and blossoms under their soles further heighten the thrill of the distance they’ve crossed. Panting and running out of breath weren’t things that could stop them. No. Not at their little game.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

But something else did.

Suga’s ears perk up at the familiar squeak of rubber and the sound of hollering men up ahead. Tobio begins to tug at Suga’s sleeve. The Shiba’s tail wags profusely at the fast-paced motion seen through wired fences. Suga squints, attempting to see clearly, but already knowing who was in the court by the sound of the voices.

“Iwa-chan!”

Oikawa races to the fence. Slowly, Suga places Tobio down, letting the puppy freely join Oikawa in viewing the spectacle.

Suga merely sighs. It wasn’t as if basketball was entertaining. It was the fact that, though he could clearly see what was happening- where the ball was or how a player lined a shot- he couldn’t make out the faces of any of the players at all. Hence, Suga always only had a fraction of the big picture. The lack of vision wasn’t what made it excruciating. It was the knowledge that you were experiencing the world lesser than everyone around you that made it hard.

In that way, you could say that was also what he experienced with volleyball. However, he was thankful that his sense of visual imparity was somewhat just limited to half of a court.

“Oh!” Oikawa coos right beside him, hands lacing through the opening of the silver barricade.

Suga’s brows furrowed. Oikawa knew he had a hard time seeing these things and yet he made all these interesting sounds. It did little to help Suga see the picture better, but it did much to pique his curiosity.

“What’s happening?” Suga finally asks, puffing up his rosy cheeks and crossing his arms in sheer annoyance.

“Seems like there’s a new boy in town and he’s challenging Iwa-chan to basketball.” Oikawa wolf whistles, cheekily eyeing the newbie. “He’s cute, but dumb for challenging Iwa.”

Iwa was the most respected athlete in town. In spite of his shorter build, the man was so well attuned to his own body, willing it so much more effectively than even those of greater stock.

“Then again-“ Oikawa continues. “This newbie is just as short as Iwa and, ever since Iwa and I have been friends, I’ve learned not to underestimate short people.” Oikawa says wagging a finger to himself.

Suga laughs.

There’s another squeak of rubber, but instead of the random sputter of the ball, it’s the even paced approach of feet. All of a sudden, Suga’s eyes come to view with the makeshift neighborhood basketball team. A short shot of anxiety fills him as he mentally assesses who he can and cannot distinguish. He peppers each with a friendly glance and smile, making sure they know they were acknowledged. One of them, most probably Iwa, leans against the fence and faces Oikawa. Sounds of bickering soon fill the air between the two, eliciting the well-known eye rolls shared amongst the team and even Suga.

Pfft.

Suga glances at the source of the half-assed effort to stifle a snort. A young man of stocky build is singled out from the crowd of sweat-drenched athletes.

_‘Back straight and shoulders wide like a warrior, legs steady and planted in place like roots of a tree, lips thin and curved into a gentle crescent and-‘_

Suga’s lips curl a bit higher than usual.

That in itself perks the young man up to talk. “Excuse me- “ He begins, wanting to look away from the intensity of Suga’s polished stone eyes.

“Hi.” The man gestures, waving . “I’m Daichi.”

_‘- a voice husked with certainty.’_

* * *

Heavy footfalls gently creaked through the second-storey floorboards as an equally heavy-eyed young man- Daichi- navigates his way through the dark corridor that was only lit by the slight diffusion of the stairwell light. He squints. After slinking sluggishly to the top of the stairs, he holds the ball of the railing and takes a moment to trace the steps all the way to the brightly lit ground floor. He yawns and rubs his eyes to prepare for his descent into the waking world.

Carefully, he takes one step after another, acquainting his eyes with the stark brightness. He squints once more, leaning against the wall to stabilize his drowsy form. His body shivers, reminding him that it was the time of the year when the earth would be at its most colorful, most fragrant and most beautiful. Also, it meant that some leftover winter winds would be blowing out of the country. It would take some time before they all left the land. He pulls his jacket zipper all the way up, fashioning a snug collar that he gladly sank into. Fisting his hands into his pockets, he takes a look up.

However, for now, the earth looked quite dull.

He faces the genkan of his house. Colored in plain streaks of purple and dashes of yellow, the entrance of his house didn’t seem to be the same portal he went into yesterday. Daichi slightly frowned, realizing that his unfamiliarity was a true sign that he wasn’t home.

It’s been three days since they settled in. They had come all the way from Tokyo due to his parents’ job reassignments. Though they would prompt Daichi often with a discussion of moving, including him and his opinions on the matter, the boy never really thought he could ever say no to the notion of that. In his head, the prospect of higher-paying jobs that could support their huge family was a greater essential than his little whims about missing home, his dread of leaving old friends and his anxiety of starting from scratch. Did he really have a choice?

Maybe not.

The young boy looked at the many pairs of shoes that lined their genkan, indicating the many pair of feet that were still wrapped in warm blankets upstairs. He sighed, testing if the air was cold enough to make his exasperation visible.

It was not.

“Good morning Daichi!” His mother popped up all of a sudden.

“Good morning!” Daichi smiled, quickly sweeping his previous thoughts under the rug. The woman disappeared into the entrance of their kitchen, coaxing Daichi to follow after her. His smile curled a little tighter, seeing that he got his knack for early rising from his parents who were already fully clothed and geared for their errands for the day. The young man pulled a chair and settled into his new place in their small and simple dining table.

“Here.” His mom graces him with a cup of coffee, a diffuser of the fragrant aroma that had begun to waft throughout the room. Though, his mother had previously condoned that he was too young to make caffeine a partner in the morning, she had, later on, given up her nagging as she witnessed that the school system wouldn’t allow Daichi to meet their rigorous demands on plain water and tea.

“A broken system.” She used to call it.

However, she always made sure Daichi’s coffee was never plain black.

“Thanks mom.” He said slowly, his mouth still languid from sleep.

From across the table, his father takes a break from his reading, lowering the sheets to greet Daichi with a smile. The young man reciprocates, nodding with his own grin.

“So what will you guys be doing today?” Daichi begins.

Flip. His father returns to the paper, choosing to multitask between the latest news and his son.

“Your mother and I will do some additional grocery shopping and a hardware run. Maybe we’ll get things to help spruce up the house a bit.”

“Do you need any help?” Daichi offers out of reflex. Truth be told, like any teenager, he would most prefer to not have to help, to not have to get up so early to do chores or to not have to take care of his siblings. However, as any first-born child in the family learns, there are some things you have to do. They are called duties. You do them whether you feel like it or not because if you don’t someone would get stressed, someone would get hurt or, worse, someone would _leave_.

He learned that keeping the balance of peace was more important than a few more minutes in bed or even a free day to himself. It was even more so because their family had so many members to accommodate and consider.

Daichi had two younger brothers and two younger sisters. Each of them had their own version of rambunctious behavior that meant leaving them all alone wasn’t the most reassuring thought. With two full-time working parents, he was the vanguard of keeping the house in order. Well, what little of a house they had.

Daichi looked around the kitchen. It was quite _sparse_. Furnished only with the presence of a refrigerator, stove, microwave and a few glasses and plates, it still looked so unoccupied in spite of it being rather small.

It didn’t sit well with Daichi. It reminded him of cold nights and memories of being left alone.

Flip.

“Well, do you need help?” Daichi repeats to his father.

“Hm.” The man hums, giving it some thought.

His mother intervenes and makes the snap decision for his husband, who was known in the family to overly think things. “Honey, I think it’s better if you rest today. Let your dad and I take care of the things for the house. Why don’t you help your siblings settle in a bit more and explore the neighborhood?”

Daichi hums, engaging with his mother’s effort to ease his father. “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to. It seems the community has a lot of recreational spaces.”

“That’s good dear! That’ll help your siblings expel all their energy too.” She laughs it off.

“If it’s okay with you, I wanted to check it out on my own first so I could check out the route going there. I’d rather get lost on my own than get lost with the fearsome foursome.” Daichi jokes.

The comment elicits a crisp slap of the newspaper on the table and a hearty laugh from his dad who knew all too well what it meant.

“We definitely don’t want a rerun of your mother going hysterical over lost kids again.” His father chimes, eliciting his mother’s playful pout.

“Ahem, we have errands to run dear.” The woman smartly cuts the conversation off, knowing that if she allowed any further discussion, it would simply lead to the deep dive analysis of how she almost spiraled into madness in front of the whole neighborhood. She’d rather not replay the memory at all. Daichi takes note of that and shelves the topic.

“Oh look at the time.” His father adds, giving Daichi a hand with that.

Hence, the Sawamura parents bade Daichi goodbye with a wave and a peck on the cheek. Daichi already knew the last few words they’d say, even before they had ever thought of them.

“Take care of your siblings.”

_‘Of course._ ’

The door clicked close.

Daichi allows himself a few seconds to sink into his thick training jacket, fisting his hands in its pockets again. He gathers all his energy before he climbs up the stairs to change into warmer clothes for another long day of taking care of the household. He leaves a note. “Breakfast is on the table and I’ll be right back.”

_‘They’re better now.’_ Daichi thinks. _‘My parents were so much more clueless before.’_ Flashbacks of his parents managing a young Daichi with little to no grace makes the young man laugh on his way out. His father forgetting to buy cooking oil or his mother mixing the colored clothes in the laundry were frequent mishaps in the family. They were young, scared and inexperienced. He understood that much.

Now, having five kids, they were more of veterans in the realm of family matters, mastering the wax and wane of seasons and personalities in the household. Everything was more like clockwork to them. They knew what time to pick up the kids, what kind of breakfast everyone liked and who needed an extra ream of paper in case of last-minute projects. Daichi strains a smile. _‘It’s easier now.’_

He pulls the black wrought iron gate into a close behind him. It clicks, reassuring Daichi that the premise was secure and that he was truly outside- a choice he began to regret. Decked in a tan down jacket and a black shirt, Daichi soon realized that the springs in Miyagi were much colder than the ones in Tokyo.

_‘I should have placed a layer of heat insulation under my shirt.’_ He thinks as he wraps his arms around himself to brave another bluster. Fortunately, his hair was short and stiff, giving the spring wind little to no satisfaction over bothering him. Quickly, the young man fishes out his phone from his pocket, hoping to get out of the wind’s path. He carefully held the device with both hands, using it as a pseudo-hand warmer, and blares the screen to life as he taps on the mobile for an online GPS.

He scans the list of suggested attractions in the area and his eyes narrow on a single park nearby. He taps on the screen and a location is pinned. He looks up, staring at the wide and empty expanse of concrete, a path he had never walked on, and, for the first time in a long time, allowed himself to wander through.

His training shoes crippled the dead bodies of blossoms that bloomed too soon, carpeting the earth with an almost ethereal softness. As his eyes perked up, it widened to the view above, thinking how it could be the same sky from Tokyo when it looked vastly different.

_‘The clouds are wispier like feathers and the sun takes too long to rise than the usual.’_ He notes as he watched the night’s periwinkle slowly turn into the light blue of the day. He watches as his movement bends the light of the sky through gaps between canopies of trees that arched above. His eyes trail the line of branches from the crown of the trees to the ground which displayed a kaleidoscopic play of shadows and pastels on the concrete. 

Soon, his eyes trailed upon the homes on the other side of the world of shadows. His sight darted from one household to another, however, much more interested in the kinds of people who lived in it rather than in the house itself. Silently, he plays a little game, surmising profiles of imaginary people by the mere look of a façade or the shape of a roof.

He’d guess that a small cottage down the street, engulfed with vines and shrubbery must be owned by a nice granny, someone who, unlike most Japanese elders, preferred the English style. Another home that caught his eye was a thin, but tall residence. It was modern in the way that it was very simple, donning stucco white paint and few accents of aluminum for its window frames. Daichi figured a newlywed couple would fashion to start their lives together there, small and humble.

Then, suddenly, Daichi’s eyes gravitate to a home elevated from the ground by the land and cut in all sorts of intricate combinations of boxes. Glass railings border its balconies and steel reinforcements line the edges and frames of the home. It was overly exuberant and exorbitant, indicating the oozing luxury that it was to own. Daichi guessed _‘Most likely a rich family with a single son to spoil.’_

Daichi walks away, too reminded of the smallness of his house, but also the blessedness of the many happy faces waiting for him whenever he came back.

Soon, his GPS lights with a line of green, signaling the nearing destination. Daichi’s eyes lit up as he spots the entrance of the park that was lined with bollards and small shrubberies. Soon, his feet leave the surface of concrete to meet the soft touch of sand, indulging him in the soothing scrunch of gravel. The sound is like an old friend he hadn’t heard from in a while. He looked around and spotted a swing nearby and no one else in sight. _‘Figures. It’s too early for any kid to be outside.’_ However, the opportunity fills the young man with a child-like delight. He makes a run for it.

Though it may look odd to find someone of Daichi’s build on a thin metal swing, it seemed Daichi settled on the fixture quite comfortably, seating himself at ease with little need to wiggle around. It was the effect of years having played on swings throughout his childhood. The swings provided him with maximum thrill and an advantageous vantage point up and down in a fixed point so he could always see where his brothers and sisters were in the playground.

The cold touch of metal against denim was familiar; the slight creak of chains was reassuring; and the crunch of sand kicked underneath was like the icing on the cake, promising a sweet ride.

_‘It had been a long time.’_ He thinks as he kicks himself up. The sway of the swing takes him back and, using years of practice controlling his core, he wills the momentum forward, wanting it to speed up as quickly as he could, all the while relishing the rush of the cold autumn wind that slowly reddened his nose.

_‘I miss this.’_

He smiles. This time it’s unguarded and unrestrained. It was wildly happy.

“Hey.”

Daichi’s swinging came to a stop.

“Do you want to join us for basketball?” Another boy, most probably of the same age as him and with even spikier hair, approaches. He had a basketball tucked under his arm a group of boys waiting for him on the court. He looked at his phone. 8 am. He had time to spare.

“Sure, my name is Daichi.” He said as he stood up from the seat of the swing to join them.

Daichi was now thankful he only opted to wear a shirt that day. Another layer of heat insulating sweater would have made him sweat buckets throughout the game. Instead, he regrets coming out of the house in denim. The material constricted much of his movement and provided little breathability. Nonetheless, he was extremely competitive and wouldn’t dare allow textiles to stop him from a win. Even the towering heights of the likes of Matsukawa and Hanamaki did little to deter him.

The game had spanned two quarters, allowing both teams to score evenly against the clock. However, as Iwa was about to breakaway from Daichi’s guard, he had completely dropped the ball, almost giving Daichi faint hopes to make a score. He was about to steal the bouncing ball from the ground if not for the stares of everyone else on the court.

“Oi!”

Iwa had stepped out of the court to talk to another lad from the other side of the fence. The boys on both Iwa and Daichi’s team grimaced. They had given up on resuming the game at all and joined Iwa by the fence.

_‘I guess they all know each other._ ’Daichi shrugs, leaving the ball to bounce to an unknown corner of the court.

He follows behind Asahi and Tanaka who were busy wiping the sweat from their chins. He peers from behind. The boy who had Iwa’s undivided attention was a tall and slender fellow who had an unblemished complexion that almost seemed glass-like and brown hair that curled up at its ends. It was odd to see Iwa interact with someone who seemed so physically contrasting to him who was rough around the edges.

“Classic Oikawa.” Tanaka mutters as he lifts the hem of his neckline to wipe his face.

“Oikawa?” Daichi raises a brow to his team mates.

“Iwa’s childhood friend.” Tanaka adds.

“Or rival.” Asahi whispers, muffling his own laughter over the segment happening before them.

Daichi returned his eyes on the two of them. What he had thought was friendly banter had become a heated competition.

“So Iwa, I hope you’ve prepared your little pride to lose today. Hana-chan, Suga-chan and I have plans to make sure you eat dirt!”

“In your dreams Oikawa! All you have is height, but no game sense in anything, but volleyball.”

The fellow named Oikawa audibly gasps in mockery of the taunt. Iwa simply smirks back, provoking the matter further.

It’s not that what they said was particularly funny, but rather how they said it, especially to each other. The slight bow of the brow and the easily infuriated ego made it seem that they were quite the comedic relief in their little gang. It reminded him of his own younger siblings whenever they’d get into a scuffle, like yesterday. His two younger brothers were fighting over who had better shoes. Albeit, they actually had the same pair and model, but they were trying to find a difference in performance claiming that one was softer to the feel than the other or that one made you run faster than the other. It was all quite unreasonable, much like Oikawa and Iwa today. The memory and the thought of overlaying Iwa and Oikawa’s face on little boys’ bodies coaxed a laugh that he desperately tried to catch in his throat.

_‘Shit.’_ He thought, hoping he didn’t make any offense.

However, instead of several pairs of eyes, he was met with only one pair.

Silvery hair, a cheeky smile and a look bordering flirtatious.

_‘Beautiful.’_ Daichi thinks the first second.

_‘Fuck.’_ He thinks on the next second when he realizes he’s been noticed. He decides to introduce himself to clear the air. “Excuse me-“ He waves. “Hi, I’m Daichi.”


	2. The Voice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suga was bent over the spiker who seemed still in a daze from the hit. His voice ringed through Daichi’s ears as he slipped in and out of darkness, flashing images of Suga whose silver hair had emulated a halo against the gym lights.
> 
> ‘It’s not so bad really.’ He thinks to himself as the angel bends closer and cups his face. His cold clammy hands feel like a repose for Daichi against the exhaustion of the game. He unknowingly leans into it.
> 
> Or, when Daichi gets smacked in the face by Suga. Technically yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry this came out later than planned. Honestly, this was done 4 days ago, but I wanted to do another read through and felt some parts lacking so I rewrote it again. This is a bit more fast-paced, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless!

Daichi, leaning against the wired fence, watches the basketball game on the sideline, while Iwa and the others gear up for the game. The boy raises his brow as he sees that Oikawa had gone out of his way to look the part of the team- imposing bright colored uniform shirts on his team mates for a silly match.

_‘He would be-‘_ Daichi grimaced. _‘- the spoiled rich kid in that house.’_ He thought.

Then, the game began.

Tanaka throws the ball up and Matsukawa and Hanamaki both jump for it. The ball is tapped by Maki who bounces it to Suga. Suga gets the ball and makes a direct pass to Oikawa who starts the attack. The trio start entering the other team’s territory. Maki marks Matsun, while Suga takes care of Asahi.

Daichi’s eyes widen, surprised of both Suga and Oikawa’s skills. They didn’t particularly look athletic. However, their game play said otherwise. Suga’s arms were relentless, trapping Asahi’s line of sight from anyone he could pass to, and his feet were quick to pivot, closing any openings for Asahi to break away from. It didn’t matter how much taller the man was. When push came to shove, Suga was not afraid to get close in contact.

Their man-to-man duel made Daichi slightly gape as alabaster skin pushed against flesh and silvery tresses were doused with sweat. The face of an angel morphed into a warrior’s, brows arched, lips pulled and eyes heavy with heat. Daichi wondered what it would be like to be faced with a look like that.

All of a sudden, the warrior called out to Oikawa.

Oikawa had broken away from Iwa’s guarding to the point that he manages to line himself for a jump shot. Iwa tries to block it. However, Oikawa fakes it and passes instead to Maki who circles out to make a clean 3-pointer.

“Yosh!” The pink-haired boy says as the ball hits the ground.

The celebration was short-lived as Iwa’s team returns to score. Matsun throws the ball and Iwa catches it to begin the attack. Asahi runs ahead to mark Maki, while Matsukawa takes care of Oikawa. Iwa narrows his eyes on Suga, hoping to easily slip past the boy.

However, while watching just one minute of the game, Daichi already knew not to underestimate Suga. The silver-haired boy keeps up with Iwa, but precariously almost trips to keep up with his opponent’s movements. Nonetheless, he remains adamant to keep Iwa in his place. Mouth curled into a snarl, he was ready to give his best into the fight. That is until Oikawa shouts in the middle of the game.

“Suga switch!”

It was only for a second, but Daichi knew he saw a frown form on Suga’s face. The slight wrinkle of flesh made him want to frown too. However, the muddled feeling is short-lived when the boy easily lifts his lips into a smirk as he gives way, letting Oikawa keep tabs on Iwa. Oikawa tries to take a swipe of the ball while making sure to leave no openings. Iwa makes a split decision- he passes to Asahi. Suga sees the course of the ball and steals it.

Now they were on the attack.

With Suga dribbling the ball masterfully to the other side, Oikawa makes a run for the open court. Maki supports Suga from behind. Iwa’s camp makes a mad dash, desperate to defend their court.

_‘It’s a clear pass to a shot. ‘_ Daichi thinks. However, Suga thinks otherwise. The silver boy breaks away from the chasing group and doesn’t throw the ball to Oikawa at all, eliciting the persistent hollering of the man on the other side. No. Suga takes a chance. He passes by Oikawa, not even giving in when Oikawa gives him a hard look.

He makes a jump. Iwa and his group are only seconds behind, ready to put a block on him.

Maybe it was the risk of the moment or the adrenaline pumping in his veins, but Daichi could have sworn that, when Suga made his jump, it looked like he could fly. Going over men that were almost two meters tall, the short lad slammed the ball into the ring, eliciting the echoing creak of the hoop as it braces Suga’s weight at the hinge. Suga landed on his feet and the whole court roared, momentarily forgetting that the ball was still in play for the sheer amazement of the stunt.

Asahi. Iwa. No. Literally everyone ran up to Suga to rave about the jump, clustering him in a circle of head pats, hair ruffles and shoulder slaps.

Daichi wanted to high-five Suga for that too, but his phone alarm started to ring, catching the attention of the players on the court. It was nearly 10 am. Soon, he’d have to ready lunch. With much reluctance, he looked up from his screen and hollered that he had to go. The boys nodded and waved goodbye to him as he disappeared from the court. Unfortunately, that also meant leaving the game open-ended for Sawamura.

As crunch of sand under his shoes transitioned to a light scuff of the pavement, Daichi couldn’t help but look back thinking _‘Who knows when’s the next time I’ll ever see them again? Maybe next Sunday.’_

Next time is sooner than Sunday.

* * *

“Prosopagnosia.”

“Prozo-what?”

Suga repeats, much slower this time. “Pro-so-pag-no-sia.”

“Prozopadnosha?” Suga’s temper slightly leaks with the slight furrow of one of his brows. “What is that?”

“Agnosia is Greek for lack of knowledge and Proso is Greek for face so I have the inability to see faces. It’s basically face blindness.”

The bewilderment visibly dawned on the newly minted homeroom teacher as she squirmed in her seat and eyed Suga carefully. She tried her best to wrap around the fact that the student before her seemed to see perfectly well, being able to distinguish either a tumbler from a mug or a petal from a leaf, yet he couldn’t do the same with the many faces that littered around him. She took a cautionary gulp before she asked.

“And you’ve been suffering this disability ever since you were born? Why didn’t your parents enroll you in a special school?” She inquired understandably.

Suga silently took a deep inhale of breath before he began his premediated spiel- a spiel he guessed he’d have to do every year from now on.

“No.” He said firmly, but issuing a kind smile. “I wasn’t born with this disability. It developed.”

_‘Or rather it deteriorated.’_ He winces to himself.

“The part of my brain that helps with facial recognition weakened over time until one day I woke up and couldn’t see faces anymore. Sometimes objects too, if their shapes are hard to recognize. That’s also why I’m still enrolled in this school because I’ve lived quite a regular life until last year. It was my choice to not move schools. After all, I’m just face blind, not totally blind. I can manage. Plus-“ Suga smirks, hating to leave the conversation in such a Debbie downer.

“-That means it’s easier for me to avoid faces of people I don’t like!” Suga jokes, puffing his chest out and crossing his arms like a haughty pre-school child.

The adult falls for it, laughing along, swayed by the charm of the silver-haired devil. “Okay, duly noted. Since you came to inform me about this, are there any special instructions from your doctor or parents?”

“Oh no, not at all. Both my doctor and parents just wanted to have you informed in case teachers would ask why I would be a bit slower to react or less responsive, but sensei-“ Suga trails off, thinking about his words carefully. “-Please don’t tell any of my classmates.” He pauses, feeling the sheer gravity of his request.

He bites a lip down. He doesn’t explain. He doesn’t iterate any further. He leaves it at that, hoping his teacher had enough sensibility not to ask why.

Thankfully, he’s right. She doesn’t. However-

Suga can’t see faces but he can recognize a frown. Regardless, the woman respects his wishes and he immediately leaves the faculty. You could say one of the benefits of face blindness is that you can’t see what pity looks like. However, you don’t need to see it to feel the same appalling mess of emotions, like _shame_.

_‘I’m perfectly normal. I’m perfectly fine._ ’ He repeats to himself as he climbed up the staircase. _‘ It’s just-‘_

Bump. He hits someone’s shoulder and whispers an apology, only then to realize that he’s surrounded by more indecipherable faces than usual.

_‘Of course, it’s the first day.’_

Anxiety shoots up in his veins and his breathing quickens. There’s so much new information surging through his eyes, but none usable to make sense of the world he lived in. Faces were everywhere. Smiling faces, laughing faces, angry faces. Yet, he couldn’t see the depth of the bags under their eyes, the sharpness of their cheekbones or the curvature of their cupid’s bow- anything that could help him tell one from the other. Worse was that even if he spoke to someone, talked to them enough to get acquainted, in a matter of minutes he would forget how their expression looked. Until now, that still happens even in their small group of friends. Even with Oikawa.

Suga only has the painstaking crush to rehearse the mantra of how Tooru looks like to attach all the little things that make the man recognizable. His favorite is his voice. It brings a nostalgic warmth whenever Tooru calls him out, especially when he says Koushi in that sing-song tone that everyone hates.

“Are you okay?”

A different warmth lands on his shoulder and a different voice rings into his ears.

Familiarity. Often it would be comforting to face something or someone familiar. Anything that could realign the circuits in your brain to recognizable sequences of actions- words you don’t have to think about or expressions you don’t have to exaggerate- gives ease of mind. To be guided by mere custom and etiquette means not having to second guess yourself, even on how high the smile of your lip is. However, the backhanded side of familiarity is exactly that- knowing that there is a certain way to react to things.

Familiarity is only nice when you can recognize what’s supposed to be comforting. In this case, Suga can’t and because of this, he panics.

He finds out nothing is familiar. Dark hair, a long face and a stocky build. He can’t put two and two together and his eyes dart around to see if other faces recognize the guy, like context clues to make up for the gaping hole in the story in front of him. However, no matter how much he tried the situation merely reminded him how socially crippled he was.

His breathing became shallow and he was grasping for breath. Hands shaking on the side. Throat dry.

In mere reflex, like a fight or flight response, he slaps the foreign hand and pulls back. He furrows his brows on the person in front, showing his disdain with a scowl. He turns and dashes from the stairs, hopeful that it wasn’t anyone important at all.

He arrives at his classroom, which was thankfully not as crowded as the others. He makes a beeline to his desk, grabbing the chair with a purpose- to settle both his bum and his rotten mood down. Finally, his upper body forsakes holding him and he pummels himself, head first unto the wooden surface of his table. An audible whack makes itself known throughout the room, eliciting worried glances from his classmates.

Within a few seconds, a soothing voice cuts into the humdrum of the morning chatter. “You’re thinking about it aren’t you?”

Though hidden from behind his forearms, Suga’s lips were completely twisted into a frown- a childish and impish frown. His voice made it heard when he finally spoke. “Who wouldn’t be? It’s because of me we lost.”

“Koushi-“ His heart flutters. “-relax, it was just a friendly game.”

Slightly, he lifts his face from the wood, peeking from the top of his forearms. “And what if it was a volleyball match? What then?”

Rich brown sugary eyes looks back at him and, for once, Oikawa finds himself mum.

Suga may not see faces, but he can at least make out shapes. From the looks of the bend of a line, Suga could infer that Oikawa’s lips quivered. He knew Oikawa loved him, but Oikawa also loved volleyball. That doesn’t mean that Oikawa would equate Suga’s life to a match, but rather more on the intensity he felt for both.

It wouldn’t sit well with him to know that he was a lesser version of what he could have been because he was held back by another person’s handicap.

“See.” Suga says sharply, lifting himself to only retreat to his seat’s backrest. He stares Oikawa down., unaware of the liquid sadness mixed with the rich molasses of his eyes.

“To you, it was only a game. To me-“ He says with a voice starting out low. Slowly, it builds up its volume until he lays it on thick. “-This is going to be my life!” He says as he offers empty hands to his friend, much like a metaphor for himself- devoid of any potential. He paused to frown, ruminating on his next words before resuming a pained smile.

“I don’t think I’ll be coming back.”

“Su-suga-chan.” Oikawa stutters in an attempt to stop his friend from saying the one word he’d hate to hear the most.

_‘Quit.’_

That is until there’s a knock on the door.

The teacher comes in and the whole class is alerted to return to their seats. Flocks of their classmates pour into the room, each nodding and waving to each other as if they hadn’t seen each other for too long. Oikawa has no choice but to comply to the etiquette, moving away from Suga with unresolved sentiments.

A second pair of feet creaking against the platform signals only one thing- a new student. Suga turns his face away and stares into the white abyss of the morning outside.

_‘What’s the use of getting to know another face I’ll come to forget?’_ He thinks as he cradles his face with a palm and drowns the voices with his own thoughts.

Yesterday, Iwa’s team regrouped and went after the ball. The basketball game resumed as usual with Oikawa’s team catching up to defend. Both teams were evenly matched, creating a fair amount of break aways, steals and trick shots on both sides of the court. You could even see it in the scoreboard as the fourth quarter of the friendly game was nearing to the end. With the score down to 38-40 with Oikawa’s team leading, it was still anyone’s game. Iwa and Oikawa remained adamant to win, hence the rest of the teams were throttled to keep up.

“Bet my ass!” Matsun huffed as he gave himself a break from the chase, bracing himself with his hands on his knees- the sole foundation of what was left of his body. His form visibly waxed and waned with the heave of his breath. Moreover, he wasn’t the only one. Everyone else was in the same condition- bathed with exhaustion and fatigue made completely visible to each other. Maki’s skin had started to rose profusely around his cheeks and neck. Asahi was starting to produce large sweat stains on his shirt. Suga was desperate for air, attempting to not sound like a dying animal every time he breathed.

It’s safe to say that everyone was royally drained. It was godsent that the spring winds came in and out of the court, relieving the players for even a tiny second. The marks of fun had left with the memory of laughs and hollers from the last quarters. However, the gang knew that when it came to Iwa and Oikawa, a friendly match was still a match. It wouldn’t be treated any differently from a competition or a national tournament. You either do or die trying. Definitely, Suga was dying.

_‘Ugh.’_ He scowls.

“Why didn’t we just play with the likes of Ushi back then?” Maki mutters between heavy breaths as he wipes the sweat dripping from his chin with the back of his hand. “I mean at least we wouldn’t get roped between their mess.” Maki points back and forth between the two players who were still competitively on guard.

Iwa was with the ball and Oikawa was heavily marking him. They pivoted between steps. Iwa performing as many feints and ankle breakers to lose Oikawa. Oikawa, on the other hand, keeps up and stays right on top of Iwa’s motions.

“We made a choice Maki. Either we put up with these two or Ushi.” The rest of the players hum in unison. Ushi was terrifyingly unreadable back then and even now. For any child, two rambunctious warheads were better than the human manifestation of the Iron Curtain.

The rest of the players would have interjected another fond memory about pre-school until they heard Oikawa holler, “Suga!” Iwa’s team were caught off guard by the casual atmosphere that had taken over that they had forgotten to actually mark their opponents. Suga slips away from Asahi and makes it to Iwa’s side, surprising the equally exhausted player with a steal.

Eyes widen. Suga is the new subject of interest as both his team mates and his opponents race towards him. He’s exhausted, feeling the heat from his perspiration building up under his clothes. He’s heavy, carrying the weight of well-worn taut muscle. He’s also very high on adrenaline, the touch of the ball’s rubber against his hand triggers a rush, a thrill, an urgency to do something about the situation. There are moments like this when enough fatigue can convert itself into fuel that plugs people into a state of flow- completely devoid of consciousness, but of the sole goal. The ring.

Suga runs to the other side, not noticing the heft of his tired legs or the quickness of his breath. He’s completely lost on that single red ring. Its mere image makes the young man’s stone -cold eyes dilate. Not thinking, but merely doing, he dribbles towards a jump shot. Clean and clear.

That is until Asahi jumps to block him.

Suga freezes as he had already catapulted himself into the air. However, the ball was still in his hands.

Sweat. Exhaustion. Adrenaline.

All of these had mixed inside the cauldron of Suga’s vessel, summoning the most basic and powerful spell that neither human nor animal could break from.

Instinct.

Suga’s eyes focus on the brown-haired man running to his side. _‘Oikawa.’_ Quickly, he passes the ball to the side, reacting in mere nanoseconds. 

Thump- the sound that the ball meets another pair of hands successfully. Suga smiles as his feet lands back on the ground with eyes closed. He turns and shouts, “Shoot it!”

However, when he flutters his eyes open, he sees that Oikawa was actually standing on his other side. His arms hung long and tired. Suga couldn’t see how his face looked, but he could at least recognize shock by the blown out size of his eyes.

The man Suga had passed to had actually gone with the wind, running to the other side with the likes of Matsun in tow. It had dawned on the lad. He had passed to Iwa.

Like a drug, all the horsepower that had dosed Suga with such a high ‘til that point had now given him an all time low. Spirit shattered and muscles tired, like Oikawa and Maki, he had just stood still on their side of the court watching as victory transpired for their opponents in one three-point shot.

He inches a leg forward, ignoring the tremble of his calf.

“Suga.” Oikawa stops him, flashing his most congenial smile. “It’s okay, it’s just a game.”

_‘For you.’_

Maki joins Oikawa’s efforts and places an arm around the volleyball setter saying, “Yeah man and I’m too pooped to stop that one. Oikawa-“ Maki gives him an evil side glance. “Give me a piggyback ride home! It’s all your fault that my body feels like shit! I can’t fucking walking without pain shooting up my sides!”

“Ack! Maki gross you’re sweaty all over!”

“As if you aren’t too!”

“At least it’s my own sweat!”

The two continue to banter diffusing the gloom that had hovered like a cloud on the young man. Suga smiles, harping in on their little play and appreciating their efforts. However, deep inside, Suga remained in rumination of the failed pass.

_‘For you, it’s just a game. For me, it’s my reality. ’_

The school bell rang. The third period had ended and Suga had learned nothing from that span of time. Like the rest of the students pouring out of the room, he stood up and started making his way to the door.

“Hey Suga-chan.” Oikawa mutters, breaking away from the conversation with the new kid. “Want to eat together?”

Suga eyes shift from Tooru to the unfamiliar face behind him. His brows begin to furrow as he tries his best to grasp some kind of feature to associate him with. Painted with confusion, Suga waits for Tooru to do the standard introductions. 

“This is Daichi! Don’t you remember?” Oikawa laughs. It’s a weak laugh, a laugh faked for the purpose of niceties.

“Hi Suga.” He chimes in, a bit less confident than yesterday.

Suga blinks. Taking in the new set of features he’d have to remember for _now_.

“Sorry Dai-chan, Suga here is really just forgetful.” Oikawa says to cover for him, but Suga remembers. He begins to look straight at the guy and flashing his horribly saccharine smirk.

“Don’t believe Oikawa! Of course, I remember you! Sorry, I’m just a bit slow in the morning.”

He lies. He flutters his eyes open to meet Daichi’s hoping the glint in them charms the boy like it does to most. However, when he looks up, he’s met with searching eyes and a rigid line for a smile.

There’s a tension in the air- one that Suga can’t put his finger on. He can’t see the totality of Daichi’s face, but he can tell that he isn’t reciprocating his well-worn words. There’s no curve of the lip or the crinkle of the eye that he’s looking for, the few signals that he was being well-received.

_‘Tough crowd.’_ Suga thinks.

Oikawa flits between the two, picking up on the friction.

“Yoo hoo! I’m just right here you two! What’s this? Are you guys doing a staring contest without me? It wouldn’t be much to stare at without my face!” He gestures his mug with a hand under his chin.

The thrum in the air is broken and Suga finally recognizes a smile and hears a huff from the boy. However, the boy named Daichi morphs from a smile with Oikawa to a frown with Suga, precisely proving the silver-haired boys suspicions.

_‘I did something wrong?’_ It’s not so much of a suspicion than a fact.

The face makes Suga want to clutch his heart as a million possibilities race through his head. _‘Was he a person I snubbed in the hall? Was he an old middle school friend I didn’t recognize? Was he-‘_ The concerns flood him like the rush of a waterfall. That is until-

“Now you guys are done, let’s go eat together! We can meet up Iwachan and the others too!” Oikawa says with a jolly tune and arms slung over everyone else’s shoulders. Unbeknownst to him, Suga is thankful for his imposing attitude cutting through the tension like a knife.

“Do we even have a choice?” Suga joins, deflecting odd ill feelings from Daichi. Glancing at the new boy again, Suga dares to cross the few feet between their faces to whisper to the lad’s ear, “My condolences for your social life. You’re stuck with this one now.” He says blatantly gesturing his thumb while sporting an exasperated frown.

What had been like an elephant in the room had been dismembered by the mere jab to the setter.

Daichi couldn’t help but laugh.

“Hey I heard that Suga-chan! I have you know I’m very popular Dai-chan! Your reputation will be fine with me!” Oikawa hollers before dragging the two by the necks.

* * *

“You play volleyball and you were from Nekoma!?” Daichi nods to Iwa as the man hefts his bag strap which was sliding off from his shoulder. The day was coming to an end and, though the group was distributed among classes, they decided to leave the building together for the volleyball court dressed in their sports attire.

“You’re really athletic. I actually thought you were a basketball player based on how you moved.” Asahi praised while tailing behind the group.

“Oh isn’t Nekoma one of the powerhouse schools in Tokyo?” Maki asks with a glint in his eye. They hear the newbie chuckle.

“Just one of the. There’s still the likes of Itachiyama and Fukurodani.” The rest of the group hums, imagining what Tokyo powerhouse schools were like.

“Tch. Tokyo or Miyagi, it doesn’t matter. This year we’ll be playing at nationals and we’ll be the ones called the champions!” Oikawa huffs as he pumps his fist into the air while leading the group. Beside him, Suga walks nonchalantly, not anymore engaging with harassing Oikawa with backhanded compliments like he did during the break.

Daichi’s eyes travel from the back of Suga’s head to his slender frame. One hand on the strap of his messenger bag and the other hung on his side- the side between them and Oikawa- swaying precariously.

“Woo big words from a freshie!” Matsukawa hollers, breaking Daichi’s stare and thankfully so as Suga had immediately spun his head at that moment, flickering his eyes in Daichi’s direction.

“It’s true! Suga-chan defend me!” Oikawa looked back at the same time.

“Oikawa, don’t rope me in another one of your campaigns.” Suga detachedly says as he returns his gaze to the front. Someone had to have his eyes on the front.

“Bleh Suga-chan! I thought we were friends.”

“Unfortunately, you thought wrong.” Suga manages, waving Oikawa off while looking straight ahead. Oikawa’s profile contorts into hurt as he further exaggerates the drama. The gesture makes the rest of the group roar in laughter. That is except for Iwa, whom Daichi gives a quick side glance to.

“So you are going join the volleyball club, right Daichi?” Maki nudges, catching up to Daichi’s side.

The young man purses his lips as hums in thought. “I was going to, but now that I met you guys, I’m having second thoughts.” He visibly furrows his brows.

Pffft.

It was only a millisecond, but Daichi’s eyes darts forwards to meet Suga’s. Face half-turned and eyes crinkled. His lips quiver to muffle a snort but he can’t hide the mirth in his eyes, telling Daichi “Yeah right! You already love them.”

Or maybe someone among them. Daichi’s lips slightly part to say something until Oikawa interjects.

“Boo Daichi! No one likes a killjoy! Like they say, when in Rome do as the Romans do!”

“Ahem.” Iwa fakes a cough as he brings everyone’s attention. “Also, we’re here.”

The Karasuno gym isn’t a fine piece of work. It’s not a facility that harps on being state of the art home for athletes or a training center with top of the line architectural features. No. It’s a plain steel and wood gym, surrounded with concrete and some corrugated metal sheets above. It’s not low-grade. Rather, it’s quite the standard of Japanese high school volleyball gyms and yet, the young men couldn’t help but widen their eyes as they took in the well-worn rust on its side, the chipped off concrete on the walls and the scratched- up floor ahead.

What the facility lacked in technology and features, it made up in history and mythos from being the home of the well-renowned little giant- the namesake for the harbinger of the new limits of the volleyball game.

“Oh we’ve got a lot, don’t we?” A senior said with a smile as he approached the net covered entrance. Lifting the veil that separated the freshmen from the realm of the gym, he leaned against the frame of the door, crossing his arms against his chest as he eyed each young man. Kudos to him for remaining calm because the eyes that stared back at him were all dead set on crossing the other side of the door. Their determination made the senior laugh.

“Alright, no need to give me the death glare.” He turns to his back hollering to another upperclassman, giving instructions. Within seconds, the young man hands out sheets of the club application form. “Here, fill this up and attend the orientation. By then, you guys can enter the court.” The older boy winked, hoping that would be the end of it. 

“Uhm!” Everyone turned, surprised at the source of the interjection. “Could we play?” Suga mutters under his breath as he clutches on the strap of his bag, this time with both hands.

The senior zones in on him before closing his eyes in thought, taking Suga seriously on that matter.

“Though the year just started, we wanted to start on our training for the tournament.” One eye peeks out, watching the anticipation fill to the brim of these boys. He sighs and relents. “Okay fine-“ He waves off. “You can come in as long as you don’t get in the way of practice.”

“That’s fine! We all play volleyball actually!”

The senior looks with brows raised. “Oh so all of you are volleyball players? You should have said! This is great!” The man disappears for a moment to bring back another fellow senior. “These guys are players already. What do you think? They could actually join us for practice.”

“Hm.” The other hums, thumbing his chin. “I don’t see why not.”

“You heard that boys? You know where your shoes go and where to put your bags on the side. Follow me after you settled in.”

It was a different kind of squeak. A squeak that’s a bit sharper than the rubber of shoes against the basketball court or the skid of a tire on the road. No. The squeak of volleyball shoes is a bit finer, demure in fact, that it makes itself known without screeching in your ears. In the Karasuno gym, that fine tuned squeak was everywhere.

For Daichi, it made him feel at home more than his home to be was.

The group was divided into two. The upperclassmen wanted to observe the freshmen and let them show off their prowess one match at a time. For the first game, one side of the court had Oikawa, Iwa and Mattsun, while the other side had Suga, Daichi and Asahi. Hanamaki found himself on the sidelines, pouting as he readied the scoreboard.

Unbeknownst to him, Daichi quite preferred he played on court instead. Being on the same side as Suga didn’t completely unravel the taut tension that was there this morning. There was a whir in the air, an electricity between them like they both knew they were watching each other vigilantly. Maybe even the whole group felt it from the moment they ate lunch together until now.

Daichi glanced at Asahi in front of him. He seemed equally tense, perceptive to the environment and the two warring states that he had been situated between on court. Daichi bit the inside of his lip. He flickered his eyes to Suga whose back was turned on him.

Suga stood inches away from the net exchanging jabs with Oikawa who managed to have their setter’s entire body quake from a laugh. Daichi watched. Suga’s t-shirt hung loosely at him by the shoulders, bellowing according to the motions of its owner, leaving little to no tale of the man’s form under the chest. However, the fabric did one favor and that was to allure its viewers to the hint of collar bone that revealed itself every now and then from the neckline, teasing and goading Sawamura’s eyes to linger longer hoping to catch a glimpse of what would probably be a milky white chest, expansve and unblemished from the rigors of being a teenage boy.

The whistle blew.

Daichi broke from the trance and was handed a ball to serve.

The game was going well. Both teams had scored a set. The first set was taken by the likes of Oikawa, while the second set was retrieved by Daichi’s team. All the while this was happening, Hanamaki was in a moral dilemma who to really cheer for in between flipping flaps of the scoreboard. That means to say that it was an evenly matched game.

They were at the third set and they were terribly exhausted. What had been spun as a mere diagnostic match in front of the seniors had made itself into an actual competition with both sides unyielding to anything less than victory.

“They’re really going at it, huh cap?” One senior says in the backdrop as he picks up his gym bag, flickering between the dying sun outside and the ball being kept alive by the youngsters.

“Yeah. Can someone please stop them before the coach finds out that we gave half of the court to a bunch of freshmen?” The captain jokes, arms crossed and face exasperated.

It seemed unlikely that anyone would. While the bystanders talked among themselves, murmuring about who they thought would win and who they thought would get in trouble with the coach later, the freshmen were deep into the game. No other stimuli could distract them from the ball up in the air.

_‘Shit.’_ Suga thought as he wiped the sweat under his chin with the back of his hand.

Though he’s been playing quite well, keeping the likes of Oikawa on his toes, he had noticed the ball slipping from his hands more often, creating errors that would have been a match point for them. Some would say it was due to his sweat-covered palms or the fatigue in his legs, but Suga knew it was because of his waning stamina. The wretched thing was like an old car. It was there, allowing you errands around town in its comfortable polyester seating, nostalgic scent of pine hanging from the rearview mirror and 90s music blaring from the radio. However, an old car was something you brought out just when you needed it. The lack of frequency meant a lack of fine-tuning the vehicle. Time had allowed rust to cover the metal, dust to collect in its tanks and oil go unchanged. When you really needed it for those long trips, it would most definitely break down.

Who’s the one at fault? Sometimes one would say Suga. Others would say his eyes. What does Suga say? He never will say, but he thinks. He thinks it’s the crippling and paralyzing anxiety of thinking how much you had to workout, to train, to practice just so his handicap wasn’t seen as such. What he loved the most had become a chore. Now, more than ever, it was an obstacle course, a test, to see if he could live as normally as he wanted to.

Suga jumps. The ball was well-received by Daichi and thrown up into the air in a high arc. It was high enough to give the silver-haired setter breathing space. For a good run-up, where he catapulted himself in time to the ball. His sight fuzzy, blurry and strained, but nonetheless working to recognize his team mates. He blinks in the air. Heart thumping in his ribcage. Blood pulsing in his ears.

The ball’s shadow descends unto Suga and his fingers prepare to touch the sphere. He arches his back as he aims the set.

“Asahi!” He calls and he launches the ball into the air.

Little did he know that he had been mistaken. _Again._

The ball is set precisely to Daichi, who he had mistaken for Asahi in the throes of the set. Daichi was already in spiking position, ready to smack the ball to the other side. However, because Suga had called out to Asahi, the boy’s hand paused in hesitation, wavering in the air and being a second too late to hit the ball before it hit him first.

It him right smack on the nose and blood dripped from his nostrils.

“Daichi!” Yells muffled the thump of the ball.

Suga was bent over the spiker who seemed still in a daze from the hit. His voice ringed through Daichi’s ears as he slipped in and out of darkness, flashing images of Suga whose silver hair had emulated a halo against the gym lights.

_‘It’s not so bad really.’_ He thinks to himself as the angel bends closer and cups his face. His cold clammy hands feel like a repose for Daichi against the exhaustion of the game. He unknowingly leans into it.

While one boy was enjoying the attention, another didn’t. Though Suga’s back was turned to everyone else who towered over Daichi, he could clearly hear the murmurs in the crowd. One voice in particular perks his ears up. It was the coach.

He had walked in on the game and had seen the blunder.

Like everyone else, he was flustered in panic and worry while quickly running towards Daichi. Unlike everyone else, he knew why it happened.

“You’re Sugawara Koushi right?” The question earns Suga a glance up towards the man. “You’re the boy that Kominato sensei said-“

“Sensei!”

Everyone stills.

Suga swallows his pride and speaks up again, quickly and brashly.

“The guy clearly needs medical attention, please let me take him to the clinic!” He looks into the eyes of the old man, the man everyone in Miyagi revered as coach Ukai Sr. He was the man that had taken Karasuno to the nationals several times. He was the monster trainer that had built great athletes and pulverized amateurish dreams.

Suga was now staring at the man resolutely, uncaring of what his face may have looked against his brazen behavior.

“Okay.”

That’s all Suga gets before he hefts himself up and carries Daichi with his arms to fumble out the gym. However, before he goes, he looks back knowing a pair of syrupy brown eyes was trailing behind him. From across the court, Suga nods, silently communicating to Oikawa to hold the fort for him, to patter down the talk and do away with the rumors as he always had before.

Only seconds after taking some steps out, Suga hears the cajoling voice of Oikawa boom from the gyms door. The setter loudly jokes to Iwa that he wished he could do that to the spiker. Audibly, the whole gym laughs along, forgetting the whole incident. Once again, Oikawa’s voice gives Suga comfort. He exhales a heavy breath before trudging with a nose-bleeding boy in his arm.

* * *

“I’m sorry.” Grip tightening around his bag strap and eyes still on the road, Suga waits for Daichi to answer back.

_‘This sucks.’_ He thinks as the boy wasn’t amicable to him since the beginning of the day and it seemed he had simply made the prospects of any friendship worse. _‘Hold on.’_ He catches himself wondering why he should care anyway. He was, after all, just a new student, a new addition to the group of friends and nothing more.

A draw of breath snatches Suga’s attention.

“Uhm, it’s alright. It was an accident.” Daichi’s voice reverberates in the space between them. Low and deep like the waters in the sea, hiding mysteries unknown.

“It was an accident right?”

Illuminated by the moon, silver speckles made themselves known in the liquid mercury of Suga’s eyes that blinked back at the question. Daichi makes a mental note. Suga looks angelic in the day, but ethereal at night, foregoing his usually stone cold stare with something almost mystical. Unfortunately, from sheer widened surprise, the same liquid mercury contorted into distraught.

“Of course it’s an accident! What would make you think I’d mean to do that!?”

Daichi pulls his hands up in surrender, feeling like the angel could morph into a harpy at any second.

“It’s just-“ He darts his eyes around unable to let his plain dark ones meet the whirlpools of silver. “-this morning-“ His voice cracks and he knows his throat’s gone dry desperate for words as scarce as water in a desert.

“You swatted my hand!”

There was silence. There was no other time Daichi wished Suga could turn into a harpy like that very second.

“What?”

“What.”

Daichi wanted to facepalm himself square on the face. Maybe he was mistaken. Maybe it was just a look alike. Nonetheless, he just couldn’t erase the memory of a boy who looked exactly like Suga, shaking in the hall of the staircase. He seemed distressed and no one seemed to bother to want to help him out. Despite being new, Daichi always thought kindness was a universal language.

He remembered placing his hand on top of the boy’s shoulder, where he felt only a fraction of the magnitude of his anxiety.

“Are you okay?” He mustered at that moment.

Daichi really didn’t know what to expect. He thought he’d be given a pained smile or a fake “I’m okay.” He expected the cold civility of strangers merely checking up on each other. He did not expect to have his hand stinging red from a slap and a vile stare targeted right at him. Before, he could do anything so as to apologize, the silver-haired boy had stormed off.

_‘What’s gotten into him?’_ Daichi thought as he left his hand hanging in the air, reaching for nothingness.

Awful start to a first day. Apparently, it could get even worse.

He had met his homeroom advisor in the faculty and was led to the classroom. His heels were brimming with a certain spring in his step and his heart was thumping with excitement. He wouldn’t call himself overly sociable or congenial. Rather, he just quite liked the thought of not being alone anymore in the neighborhood.

The door slid open. The teacher stepped in. He was called out.

As the soles of his shoes creaked against the wooden platform, his dark eyes absorbed the many sets of eyes trailing him, watching his movements like a new breed of human. However, his own deep-set eyes found two familiar ones in the crowd- one brown as molasses and the other as cold as slate stone turned to the outside.

Gulp.

Sawamura’s heart dropped to his gut.

Since then, Daichi had been careful and wary of Suga, expecting him to be somewhat of a prickly fellow based from this morning. Instead, he meets a good-natured and cheeky boy who’d much rather criticize Oikawa’s fashion choices than don a death glare at any time of the day. The dissonance between the boy he met this morning and the friend he had made in the afternoon had doused him with a great amount of confusion.

Hence, he kept a safe distance from Suga, watching him carefully to see if maybe what had happened this morning was simply a lash of emotions from some sort of problem. Daichi had thought that at some point Suga would bring it up. However, he never did and, to be quite frank, it seemed he was just as confused as Daichi was with regards to the charged air between them.

Maybe the ball to the face was the nail in the coffin.

“Oh.” There was a pause. “Oh no!”

It was Suga’s turn to go frantic. The color in his face drained as he thought of ways that could have been misunderstood.

“You see-“ He stutters, pressing his thin lips into a line as the thought of ways to explain the behavior without ever having to mention his condition. “-I’m bad-“ He begins.

“I’m bad with faces.” It’s not a lie. “I-“ He continues with fingers fidgeting against each other. “I must have mistaken you for someone I didn’t like before.” He improvises.

Daichi’s blackholes for eyes widen in awe as if the statement explains everything all the while ignoring the small voice at the back of his head saying otherwise.

“Oh I see.” A small curl in his lip nurtures itself up before he laughs.

Suga’s mercurial eyes stare at him both bewildered and comforted.

“Thank goodness!” Daichi finally utters while wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “I seriously thought you hated me!”

For some reason, the thought of Daichi worrying about how he thought of him blossoms a warmth in the pit of Suga’s chest, rushing blood into his cheeks and heat into his limbs. His ears turn red and, thankfully, the blanket of the night is dark enough to hide it. Flurried by all these unknown senses, he squawks the first thing on the top of his head.

“Hate you!? I thought you hated me! You were staring at me like I was some kind of disease the whole day!” Suga spares no ounce of exasperation.

Daichi simply laughs back.

“I’m sorry! I thought you hated me first! You slapped my hand.”

Suga throws both his hands in the air. “Let’s be real, anyone would when a stranger placed their fucking hand on them out of nowhere!”

Daichi flashes a boyish smile. “Maybe but you looked-“

Suga trips himself.

_‘Shit. I can’t see faces and now I can’t see the way.’_ Prepared to meet concrete straight to the face, he shuts his eyes as he realizes he can’t catch himself in the fall.

“Hey!”

Thump.

Instead of feeling the rough scathe of the road on his cheek, he was met by the warm and soft cushion of skin and fabric. Carefully, he fluttered his eyes open and was met with Daichi’s face, brows severely furrowed and lips in a frown. Suga could recognize that Daichi was scrunched up in pain from the impact.

“Daichi!”

_‘What is up with this boy!? He’s always getting hurt.’_ Suga thinks to himself as he pushes of from Daichi’s chest to assess the damage. Though he couldn’t see his face, he could tell there was no blood this time. However, the minute he realizes that all is well is also the minute he becomes aware of Daichi’s chest under his hands. The thin fabric of the t-shirt does nothing to hide the rock-solid lines that Suga can only surmise from the feel of his hands. Highly conscious, he places his hand on Daichi’s arms instead.

Clearly a mistake.

Suga’s breath hitches as his fingers wrap around the curvature of Daichi’s biceps and presses against the firm feel of flesh.

Daichi winces at the weight. “Uh, are you okay Suga?” The boy looks up from the ground to meet his face, but instead of a crumpled face in pain, he was met with a rose-tinted flush, a pair of wide pools of liquid daze and hair flustered in the wind.

Suga covers half of his face with a forearm while looking down on the ground.

Daichi wonders if his heart is beating as fast as his.

“Wh-what did you say? I looked??” Suga says, hoping to distract more of himself, than Daichi on the position they were in. With a voice humming low and raspy from the fall, he quickly answers.

“Beautiful.”

Mercurial eyes blinked.

“Huh?”

“Huh.”

Daichi was certain that he would like to be swallowed up by the earth now , while Suga has Daichi’s voice telling him he’s beautiful on mental replay.


End file.
